


Dragonslayer

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is a dragon, Alex somehow captures princes by seducing them? I don't know, I swear it isn't creepy please read it, M/M, The Author Regrets Where Their Life Took Them, additional tags may be added later, believe me, dragon!AU, kill me now, maybe multi-chapter???, mercenary!AU, modern/medieval AU, please enjoy this, provided I don't delete this from awkwardness, someone save me, this fic escapes my definition, what the actual hell am I doing with my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story in which John is the hero with the past, and Alexander is the elusive shapeshifter John wishes he wanted to kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragonslayer

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon my language and discouragement from reading this, but I have no idea what the fuck happened here.
> 
> Ideally, you read this and you like this, but it's really weird. It's fantasy, and it's an in-your-face brand of strange. Not crackfic, though, by a long shot. Please enjoy anyway; I love you all for even looking at this (or maybe I have really low standards and need to get a grip)!

The hero trudges up the side of a mountain, hand held apprehensively on the hilt of his sword. It’s a shadowy night, the moon blocked out against the sky, and his boots are the only noise to be heard as he ascends across the stone. His eyes are fixed on the peak of the rocky hillside, where a massive hole gapes darkly in the side of the stones. It’s days like these, cold, bleak, windy, and possibly trekking towards death that John Laurens wishes he hadn’t gone into this particular line of business. A clatter of pebble falling down makes him jerk his head around warily, almost paranoid. He’s been doing this shit since he was about 18 and decided that living life as a noble just wasn’t going to cut it for him. So instead, Laurens, the rich boy from an obscure kingdom far to the south of where he stands now, decided to sell himself out as a hero and knight (not that he’d ever gotten a title, but nobody was going to bother to ask. You’re in trouble, you see a young man striding out of the woods with a sword in his hand, you ask the man for help. It’s not great logic, but it works for some reason). 

After what feels like ages, he hauls himself into the cave. This stint was a quick little dragon-slaying job from a tiny kingdom lying at the foot of the mountain that was consistently getting its princes and princesses stolen and ransomed by a dragon. A part of him wondered, in the part of his mind that hadn’t stopped being a curious little boy, exactly how the dragon managed to continually rob the same kingdom of its nobility. _Not your problem,_ he reminds himself. _You have a plan. In, out, get your money, leave. Don’t stop, don’t look back. Never look back._ Laurens draws his sword, briefly revelling in the muted sing of metal as it leaves the sheathe. The young hero stares futilely around the dark cave, eyes not yet adjusted to the dim light. 

Then the claw strikes him. 

He flies several feet backward, falling on his shoulders with a muffled grunt of pain. A moment of observation as he lies on the rocks tells him it wasn’t a strike so much as a swat, a warning; he’s also not hurt, which is a first, just a little bruised from hitting the ground. Wincing, Laurens scrambles to his feet, planting his boots firmly on the smooth rock. Raising his sword so it catches the light (it’s the strongest of irons, and the hilt is made from gold he’s stolen from a dragon’s trove, certainly enough to at least strike awe into most beasts), he advances once more into the hole ripped into the side of the mountain, this time listening intently. This time, he hears the almost imperceptible click of talons against stone and slashes out with his sword blindly as soon as the noise pauses. There’s a roar of pain, and a shadowy mass jolts backward. Suddenly, a burst of flame coils through the air, nearly blinding him after the darkness of the night and cave. The fire spirals perfectly into a torch that Laurens hadn’t noticed upon entering, and, just for a moment, he stops to admire the precision of the fire-breathing; most dragons have half of that control over their flames, and a quarter the heat.

The first thing he sees after his eyes adjust again is sapphire-violet eyes, the rare brand eyes that bards sing about in lonely taverns _(if only they caught a mere glimpse of this dragon!),_ and then reddish scales that glint darkly in the firelight. Slowly, the dragon creeps closer- it’s smaller than Laurens would have expected for all the terrorized whispering from the kingdom far below him. If he wasn’t so irrationally scared right now, the beast would be downright cute. Its head is maybe the side of John’s chest, which is a hell of a lot smaller than the other dragons he’s faced in his time as a hero for hire- oh, might as well call it like it is, a _mercenary-_ or even the ones he’d spied as he wandered when he was a carefree child. 

“No one dares to enter my cavern!” the dragon bellows, arching its neck so it looks down at Laurens from high above. He can see the light building and glowing in its throat, a solid warning sign of fire. It’s probably not a good idea to piss the thing off, but Laurens always has liked a challenge. 

“If I didn’t dare, I wouldn’t be here,” Laurens replies coolly, twirling his sword in his hands absentmindedly. “I’m Laurens, by the way, John Laurens. Hero. Mercenary. Dragonslayer.” 

The dragon snorts down at him. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, John Laurens.” The way the beast says it sends chills down his spine. Upon closer inspection, the dragon’s voice seems almost… human. Male, smooth, charming. No different from the voices he’s heard in his travels through towns, kingdoms, and villages. Most of the beasts he faces are _different;_ their tones are reptilian and rasping, full of menace and the roughness of a wild creature. This dragon sounds like a goddamn _lord._ It has a handsome face, too; chiseled and strong and intelligent. Again, almost terrifyingly human, as if a man has been forced into dragon form. Laurens shakes his head and holds up his sword. 

“It has been quite nice, but I’m afraid I have to end your life now.” 

“Do you?” His voice is lazy (John has decided the dragon is definitely male). “Without even asking my name? I prefer to make proper introductions before getting run through with a primitive weapon. Perhaps-” the dragon _winks at him-_ ”if I like you, I’ll even level the playing field.”

Laurens rolls his eyes. “If you would like to stall, be my guest, beast. You will still end up deceased very soon.” 

“Oh, I’m sure.” He strides forward, wings unfurling, and arches his neck even further so that it’s curved down right in front of John’s face. His eyes are breathtaking up close- a swirling, beautiful collage that doesn’t belong on the face of a monster. “If it's all the same to you- Alexander of the Dragonlords. At your service.” 

“Dragonlords?” John inquires, voice dripping with sarcasm. He knows it’s a mistake to strike up a relatively friendly conversation with a creature he has full intentions of killing, but it’s strangely intoxicating, for some strange reason. 

“You haven’t heard of us?” Alexander’s voice is sleek and charismatic.

Then he _transforms._

It’s a smooth, swift process; in less than two full seconds, Alexander the Dragonlord has become a man. 

The reddish scales have become long, thick auburn hair tied back into a queue with a black ribbon. The lavender-blue eyes have settled into a human face that somehow possesses more fire than it did as a dragon, an effect that is, put simply, captivating. They’ve taken on an edge, now, calculating and sharp, things you don’t see in the gaze of a simple animal. Alexander stands as a small, slight man just in front of him, far shorter than Laurens is. He smiles up at him, and still, even as a tiny young man, he is in control. A sword hangs at his side, which he unsheathes fluidly. he thinks, _the playing field is not leveled._

“I believe they teach you how rude it is to stare, my _dear Laurens,”_ Alexander comments, a wicked grin spreading across his face. 

John blinks, shaking himself out of his daze. “And I believe I gave up being a nobleman long ago, and I do what I like.” 

Alexander tsks softly, walking around him carefully, eyes sweeping over him. Laurens stands stock-still, afraid to move yet unable to take his eyes off of the dragon. 

“Do you still wonder, like the others do, how I managed to capture those poor, young fools?” His voice is calm, quiet, silky, charismatic. He can feel his heart rate increasing, isn't sure whether it's because he stands next to a killer or _another thing_ , is scared to know the answer. 

Laurens swallows, breath leaving him for a moment. “No, I do not.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know whether to continue this? Also whether it crosses the line from supernatural to just wrong?
> 
> I got weirded out by my own story; I don't think that's a good sign, but if you like this and want to know more about my gay dragon and hero/founding father and soldier babies please drop a comment below and I'll consider making this a multi-chapter thing! 
> 
> Or just, you know, drop a comment anyway. Because you can, and they bring me great joy.


End file.
